


Of Moving In and Finding Out

by ThaliaClio



Series: Demons and Playmates [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Psych, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: About BEFORE New York, Alternate Universe, But Shawn's his favorite, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Extremis, Lassie missed Shawn, M/M, Pineapple Everywhere, Post Iron Man 3, The Avengers Are Nosy, There's a bonus chapter now, Thor broke the coffee maker, Tony likes the Terminator, We don't talk about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:22:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaClio/pseuds/ThaliaClio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes the Avengers three months to move into Avengers Tower. It takes Tony Stark four months and an attack from the Mandarin to move into Avengers Tower. Shawn Spencer never really moves in, but he’s there anyway. Alternatively titled "Shawn Meets the Avengers". </p><p>We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours. - Unknown</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It takes the Avengers three months to move into Avengers Tower.

It takes Tony Stark four months and an attack from the Mandarin to move into Avengers Tower.

Shawn Spencer never really moves in, but he’s there anyway.

__

The first time Steve sees Tony since the Battle of Manhattan is four months later. He’s been living in the Tower – _Avengers Tower_ – for nearly a month along with the rest of the team (excluding Stark, who is apparently only a consultant) under Fury’s orders. Team unity, apparently.

And, honestly, things are okay. Surprisingly. They all get along well enough, but none of them are actually around that often. Clint and Natasha are still agents of SHIELD. Steve is an agent, too, kind of. Thor is still an alien prince. Bruce still works frequently with Doctors Without Borders. So they only see each other about two weeks out of the month.

They hear about the Mandarin, of course they do. But Natasha and Steve and Clint can’t be pulled out of their missions to help, and Thor and Bruce don’t learn until later because they’re both unreachable.

The guilt watching the news footage is nearly debilitating for Steve after the fact. The Avengers as a whole are briefed on the events. The Mandarin, Killian, Stark. Everyone looks a little paler after watching the tapes and hearing Fury’s impersonal briefing.

So when they learn that Stark is going to be moving into the Tower, it’s not really a surprise, but it is… unnerving.

Steve expects fanfare. JARVIS – who secretly terrifies him – playing too loud music, Stark shouting, something. But it never happens.

The first time Steve sees Tony since the Battle of Manhattan the man is glaring blearily at the coffee maker which refuses to spit out any caffeine. (Thor’s fault – it’s better if nobody asks). He’s not wearing a suit, barefoot and in old sweats instead. He’s unshaven, two-day stubble on his cheeks and chin. There’s oil or grease high on one cheek, and his eyes are shadowed and tired.

“Stark?”

A word Steve had never been quite comfortable with tumbles from the genius’s lips and the genius himself nearly tumbles over.

For a moment Steve almost laughs. Then he almost apologizes. Then he says nothing in the end.

“The fuck are you doing awake at 5 in the morning?” Stark tries to glare, Steve thinks, but he can’t quite manage the kind of intimidation Steve has come to expect from various press conferences and his own experiences with the man.

Steve blinks. “Supersoldier. I only need five hours of sleep. The better question is what are you doing awake at 5 in the morning?” _Here? In the Tower?_ is the unspoken ending that Stark hears anyway.

Stark gives up on glaring at Steve and turns back to the broken coffee pot forlornly. “What? A guy can’t visit his own Tower?”

“Sure he can. That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“Science. I am doing science at five in the goddamn morning. With no coffee because one of you jackasses _broke my machine_.”

Steve’s hackles rise for a minute before he realizes it’s exhaustion and incredulity making Stark prickl(ier than usual).

“Thor. Don’t ask.”

“ _How is this my life?_ ” Stark moans, dropping his head onto the counter. The _thunk_ makes Steve wince.

It’s been a week since the Mandarin, Stve realizes. He wonders how long Stark’s been here and he hasn’t noticed (none of them have).

Stark tilts his head on the counter to stare at Steve with a baleful eye. “Nice observation, Holmes.”

_I understood that reference!_

“I said that out loud?”

Stark look like he considers laughing, but dismisses it, smiling tiredly instead. “Yes. Am I distracting you? I’ve been here a few days, though, I think. I dunno exactly. Got other stuff going on.”

Steve just barely stops himself from asking _What other stuff?_ ; the man is surly enough as it is and clearly in no mood to share.

“Well… I’ll leave you to it then.”

__

Steve tells the rest of the team about Stark’s arrival that morning over breakfast. Bruce is mildly surprised, Thor is excited (as usual), and Clint and Natasha just exchange raised eyebrows.

And life goes on.

None of them really see Stark for another week. The coffee pot gets replaced, though. Sometimes there’s a pair of shoes thrown in the hallway that don’t belong to any of them. On one notable occasion there were singe marks on the floor and counter that nobody would own up to. When JARVIS was asked, he merely replied that he would take care of it. They all assumed it had been Stark.

__

A week later and still no sign of Stark. When Steve asks, though, JARVIS assures him that _Sir is still in the Tower_.

A week later and Steve is up at five in the morning – again – when he hears a muffled explosion from the floor below – Stark’s lab. He’s to his feet and pressing the elevator button and the doors ding open and there –

Is Tony Stark in the – undamaged – flesh. Laughing. With another man. Over whose shoulders he has his arm flung.

Steve stops dead.

Tony looks up and freezes.

The other man looks up and smiles.

“Man with a Plan!”

It takes Steve a moment, but then it clicks. It’s the man from the lobby, from when Fury called him months ago.

“Jason,” he states (inquires) cautiously.

And suddenly Tony is laughing, and then the man (Not Jason) dissolves into giggles too. They both look a little sleep-deprived and quite a bit crazy, hair sticking up in every direction and soot on their faces.

“ _Jason_?” Tony gasps out. “Seriously? What was your last name – Vorhees?”

Not Jason regains his composure enough to rise his nose with false airs. “Snuffle-up-a-gus, actually.”

And then the two are giggling again, silent squeaky laughs with not enough air coming into their lungs.

“Jesus, Cap,” Tony’s still laughing a little bit as he brushes past Steve. Not Jason pats his shoulder, shaking his head with a smile.

Steve stays rooted to the spot while his brain attempts to process the past minute. The two men don’t stop, and he hears their footsteps in the kitchen.

“Pineapple?”

“In coffee?”

“Why the hell not? Glory be to the Great Yellow God.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about gold.”

“Pineapple _is_ gold.”

“You’re just trying to distract me.”

“From how I accidentally blew up the lab? I’m hurt, wounded, by your excursions.”

“Accusations.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“No… no, you haven’t. You are full of shit.”

“No more than you, Auti.”

“Seriously? We’re doing that again?”

“Doing what?”

A huff.

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry. Gets my _extrem_ ities tingling.”

Steve’s brain is (mostly) functional by the time he hears Stark choking on what he assumes to be coffee. Mechanically, he turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen, setting his shield down by the coffee table in the common room as he goes.

The scene in the kitchen is surprisingly… domestic. Stark is making a face as he paws at a coffee stain on his grease and ash stained shirt. Not Jason is leaning over the island, hazel eyes twinkling as he smirks at Stark. Not Jason notices his presence first, and his eyes dim little as the flick over him, but the amused smirk stays in place. The eyes are sharper than they should be, Steve thinks, and the undisguised examination makes him a little uncomfortable.

“Need something, Cap?” Not Jason asks, bringing Stark’s attention away from the spilled coffee (which smells oddly fruity).

The genius sets down his mug (which reads _Come to the Dark Side_ with a cartoon image of a black pot of coffee) and squints at Steve. Steve feels on display under the dual stares, though Not Jason’s eyes feel more probing.

“Not particularly,” he finally says, moving again towards the fridge. “I was just getting something to eat before my morning workout.”

He can still feel eyes as he digs through the fridge until he comes out with a pre-sliced grapefruit and a bottle of water. “I am curious, though. What is your name?”

Not Jason widens his eyes innocently. “I’m insulted you don’t already know me.”

“Should I?”

Not Jason smiles with just a few too many teeth. Steve feels irrationally vulnerable. This man is no threat to him. Not physically, at least. That knowledge does not make him feel any better.

“Shawn Spencer,” the man finally says. “I’m Tony’s friend.”

Steve feels distinctly like there’s more to it than that. “And…?”

Stark frown and Not Ja—Spencer smiles again, this time a little less like a wolf and a little more like a proud teacher.

“Look at you, breaking down stereotypes. Big and blonde, but not dumb!” Steve thinks he might be offended. “I am also a hair stylist and an adult film star as well as Tony’s tango coach.”

It takes Steve a moment to recognize the words, but when he does he lets out a half amused, half frustrated huff. Stark glances between the two of them.

“Shawn…” Stark warns.

It’s hearing Stark saying his name that clicks it all together for Steve. Shawn Spencer. Stark had called him right after the Battle of Manhattan.

“Stark called you,” he blurted (again).

Stark just sighed and turned back to his coffee (fruit juice?). Spencer just keeps staring at him as though he were a particularly bright toddler. He feels like a particularly dull toddler.

“He does that from time to time,” Spencer finally agreed.

And then he’s standing straight up. As though there were some invisible signal, Tony straightens at precisely the same moment and the two men saunter – actually saunter – out of the kitchen simultaneously, gravitating closer and closer until Spencer has an arm slung over Stark’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t move. He’s very confused.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is in the ceiling vents, and the Avengers should stay off their phones.

The next person to see Tony Stark in the Tower doesn’t even really see him. Clint has made the air vents his home or at least his preferred method of travel. People never look up, and you hear all sorts of things when people don’t know you’re there.

After a week of not seeing Stark, Clint is curious if the man is still even in the building, despite JARVIS’s repeated confirmations. He’s sure the AI would lie for his creator. So he crawls in the air vents below the common floor, above where he’s been told the lab is.

He’s in there for nearly six hours and it’s ten o’clock at night and he just wants to go watch a James Bond movie when he finally hears voices.

“-us,” Stark sounds cheerful, if tired. Somewhere in the background Clint can hear faint snores. A girl? A guy? He’d thought Potts and Stark had a thing. Maybe she was over?

“ _Hey, Tony,_ ” the other voice is distinctly mechanical. Speakerphone. _“How’s he doing?”_

Stark sighs, voice turning a little frustrated, a little sad. “He’s angry. He’s always been a little sarcastic to people he doesn’t know, but it’s _sharper_ now. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. Which,” Stark adds hurriedly, “I’ve been telling him to do for years, but…” Stark sighs again. “Gus, I think he’s _scared_. I think _I’m_ scared.”

In the silence that follows Clint holds his breath. Hearing Stark admit to fear was a little bit terrifying, like Natasha admitting she had been worried about him after... well, After.

 _“Can you help him?”_ The voice on the phone is trembling just a little bit.

“Yeah, yeah. I have to. This is my fault, Gus. This – this, I, jus--,” Stark breaks off with a slightly terrifying choking noise.

 _“No,”_ the voice is stronger, surer. _“You do not get take the blame for this mess. Killian? This was all him, man. And you saved him in the end. That is what you did.”_

 _Killian._ Aldrich Killian. The man behind the Mandarin. The wheels in Clint’s head are turning. Who had Killian hurt that Stark knew? His (Potts’) bodyguard? Yes, but that didn’t fit. There was nothing Stark could do to save him; he was already recovered after recieving the best medical care available. The file on the Mandarin Incident and Tony’s involvement had been redacted, Clint remembered, but he and Natasha had been able to piece together a few things based on the bits and pieces and SHIELD gossip along with Bruce and Steve. Somebody had been taken in an attempt to blackmail Stark. Could this be who they were (not) talking about?

“Yeah,” Stark finally said, not really an agreement, just a breath. “He’s going to be okay, Gus, right?”

 _“Yeah,”_ the man on the phone – Gus – sounded surer than Stark did. _“He’s always okay. Call me if you have anything, alright, man?”_

“You know I will. You’ll be fourth to know. Behind me, Shawn, and JARVIS.”

The voice on the phone made a weird smacking sound with his lips. _“Man. You may be geniuses, but Gus is a playa.”_

Stark laughed a little breathlessly. “Sure you are.”

_“Damn right. Get some sleep. I can hear Shawn’s superpowered ass through the phone.”_

Alarm bells went off in Clint’s head.

“Yeah. Talk to you later.”

_“Bye.”_

_Click._

Below him there was shuffling and the faint sleepy sounds of somebody not quite awake followed by shushing and then silence. And still Clint did not move.

_Superpowered._

Killian had been working on Extremis, a computer based virus that did… something. Nobody was actually sure what it did when it was functional, but when it was _non_ functional, it blew people up. And all signs pointed to this guy – Shawn, who was apparently _in the Tower without anybody knowing_ – being infected with it.

Clint very carefully extracted himself from the air duct over Stark’s lab, lithely winding through the normally noisy metal. This was big. He had to tell the team. As soon as his feet touch the ground on the common floor his phone was out and a text was sent.

_Avengers Assemble._

__

In retrospect, trying to have a secret meeting which excluded the world’s foremost technological genius and his omniscient AI anywhere near technology was a very bad idea, particularly when the meeting was organized over a phone which was designed by the very same genius. But that is exactly what happened.

“I think Stark is hiding a superhero in the basement.”

 _“What?”_ came four incredulous voices.

The coffee shop was mostly abandoned, only a tired looking barista who had wandered to the back on her cell phone after the team had ordered, aside from the Avengers (minus Stark).

“Stark. I think he has a buddy who got infected with Extremis, and I think he’s in the basement,” Clint clarified as he sipped at his (manly) Double White Chocolate Mocha Latte.

Banner and Thor were staring at him with blatant confusion, and Natasha’s raised eyebrow was the equivalent. Steve looked considerate.

“You might be right, actually.”

 _“What?_ ” The voices were down to three. Clint blinked.

This time Steve had to clarify. “I saw him with a man this morning. I was going to tell you guys at movie night tonight. I didn’t think it was urgent enough for to call a meeting – it’s Stark’s Tower, and he can have friends.” The unspoken implication was that Stark certainly wasn’t friends with them. “I didn’t see anything to suggest Extremis, but the man did say his name was Shawn Spencer.”

Clint’s eyes widened and he may have choked on his coffee. Natasha groaned and rubbed at her forehead with one hand.

“Spencer is…” Natasha pursed her lips as she searched for the words. “For lack of a better word, an asset. He provides information.”

“God knows he doesn’t need anymore from us,” Clint added.

“Is this Spencer a fellow Agent?” Thor asked, uncharacteristically somber.

“No, God no. He’s like Stark only with people, not tech – though he can do tech, too,” Natasha stated, voice stilted with what some might mistake for annoyance, but Clint could hear the undercurrent of fondness. She used the exact same tone on him often enough.

“He’s kind of terrifying when he’s not being an ADHD kid on a sugar high.”

“And you think he’s been infected with a computerized virus that blows people up,” Bruce added.

“Well I didn’t know it was _him_.”

“How sure are you?” Steve asked,

“75 percent.”

Natasha wrinkled her nose. “Too high not to follow-up, too low to tell Fury.”

“Unless he’s the one hiding it,” Bruce pointed out sharply.

A tension passed over the group. None of them had quite forgiven the Director for hiding Coulson from them, for faking the man’s death.

“A definite possibility,” Steve finally said. “But I wouldn’t put it past Stark to hide it from even SHIELD. Spencer may have helped if he’s as brilliant as you guys seem to think he is.”

“Think Stark, only with a cop for a dad instead a business man.”

“And early tests indicate Extremis links the infected with technology on a telepathic level,” Natasha added.

Steve blinked and leaned back a little bit.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘shit’.” Clint knew he was thinking the exact same thing.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Other Guy is a good judge of character. Tony watches the Terminator. Shawn is basically a cat.

As it turn out, researching (spying on) Spencer and Stark is unnecessary.

When the team gets back to the Tower, the two men are waiting for them.

They’re sprawled across the leather couch (exactly like the ones in the lobby – black and square and way too comfortable to make any sense) in a way that reminds Bruce of him and Betty years ago. It _hurts_ to see Tony leaning against the arm with Spencer’s head in his lap, the mechanic’s fingers combing softly through sandy hair. A movie is playing in the background, and Bruce recognizes the lines from years and years ago. He never would have pegged Tony for a _Terminator_ fan, but Tony is full of surprises.

Spencer blinks at the dumbfounded group lazily, hazel eyes a little amused and a little annoyed, but mostly he just looks sleepy. Tony lifts his free hand to wave at them, not moving his eyes from the screen.

“Mind pausing it?”

At first Bruce thinks Tony’s talking to JARVIS, but then Spencer hums and waves a hand vaguely, the sound cutting off. Bruce blinks. _Extremis._

“So. You guys figured it out. Two weeks. I was betting on a month. J was on board for three weeks.”

“I was only off by a day,” Spencer volunteers, still not moving. Tony’s hand hasn’t stopped petting his hair, either.

“Extremis,” Natasha says, voice deceptively cold and calm. The Other Guy shifts uncomfortably in the back of his mind; he can feel the tension in the air. “You haven’t blown up yet.”

Spencer hums. “Well, not fatally at least.”

“Is it under control?” Steve asks, every bit the team commander. Bruce wonders if he’s already planning an official incident report. He trusts Steve -- he does -- but military types tend to remind him of less than pleasant things.

Stark turns toward the captain, brown eyes hard. His free hand clenches on the couch, but the other hand stays gentle on Spencer's head.

“Yes, _Captain._ ”

Spencer pats the leg Stark has stretched by his side. “Easy, Tony. I am not Scarlett O’Hara. My honor does not need to be defended.” He stares at Steve, and Bruce feels uncomfortable for the man just being in proximity to that stare. “It is under control. I have it under control.”

The Other Guy settles a little bit, and Bruce forces himself not to show surprise at the docility. The last time he’d responded so well to a stranger, Tony had declared himself a “huge fan”.

“Are you sure?” Steve still sounded very much in charge, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty.

“The other’s barely lasted a few days, and that was with very visible side effects,” Stark answered, defensive and a little angry. Almost unconsciously, Bruce side-stepped from the group, a little bit closer to the men on the couch. He knew where he stood and who would win this argument. He liked Tony -- the Other Guy like Tony  _and_ Spencer -- and, well, it paid to be on the winning side. “Shawn is two weeks in without incident.”

“I’m a superhero,” Spencer (Shawn) jumps in smiling a little bit as his fingers tap out a rhythmless beat on Tony’s knee. Suddenly the lights start to flicker, and it only takes half a second for Bruce to realize it’s in tune with the tapping.

“What is this sorcery?” Thor roars, and Bruce side-steps again when he hears Mjolnir.

Stark laughs, sounding a little like he’s choking, and the flickering stops. Shawn’s smiling, and his fingers are still.

“Just me, Point Break.”

Bruce watches out of the corner of his eye as Thor warily lowers his hammer. Nobody seem sure how they should be reacting.

“Don’t think I don’t see you two lurking back there,” Shawn calls out, turning his head away to stare up at the ceiling or maybe up at Tony. Bruce can’t quite tell.

Natasha very carefully does not react, but Clint sighs.

“How’s Agent these days? He see the last Supernanny? Crazy shit. That's the whole reason I don't have kids.”

"You don't have kids because you _are_ one," Tony point out.

Shawn pokes his tongue out but doesn't move.

Bruce can feel the Other Guy _smiling_.

“Alright,” Steve suddenly breaks the very awkward silence. “A friend of Tony’s is a friend of ours.”

The words feel stilted in Bruce’s ears, practiced sentiment rather than sincere, but it’s better than Steve calling Fury and demanding Shawn be debriefed and interrogated about the Mandarin (and experimented on).

“Riiiiiight,” Tony says skeptically, his hand finally stilling.

Shawn cranes his head a little bit, pushing into Tony’s palm until the stroking resumes. “Well that is just super, guys. Now excuse us while we watch the Governator pre-Governor.”

Without further ado, the movie resumes, explosions filling the air. The team stands awkwardly for a minute, Shawn and Tony dismissing them as nothing more than furniture, before they all just shuffle off to the kitchen almost simultaneously.

“So… how long is he staying here?”

And Bruce can’t tell if Clint is asking about Shawn or Tony, doesn’t really think the answers will be different.

“Guess we’ll find out.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is a spy. Clint is nosy. Tony's maybe a little bit in love.

Spencer is gone the next day.

Natasha can tell as soon as she walks into the kitchen in the morning. Stark is slumped over the counter, rumpled and tired looking and maybe a little melancholy, staring into a mug. The room smells like Hawaii.

“He left,” she says, staring at Stark as she drinks her coffee.

“Yeah.”

“Because of us?” She ignores the pang of guilt in her belly, nothing showing on her face.

“No.”

Stark still hasn’t looked up. One hand is covering the top of the mug now, steam swirling out between his fingers. The other is _tap-tap-tap_ ping the glass (or maybe it’s not glass; Natasha can’t tell and Stark’s not saying) covering his reactor.

“Oh?” It takes less effort than it used to to let the honest curiosity into her tone, to allow herself to show her own emotions. Living with real people – _friends_ – is bringing out parts of her she hasn’t seen since childhood. It scares her just a little bit.

“He has a life, ‘Tash.”

It surprises her that Stark feels so little qualms about nicknaming her. It shouldn’t, though, she thinks. Stark never addresses anybody be their given names. Still, she can’t help but feel this wasn’t in jest or mocking, but familiarity. She tries to ignore the warmth in her chest, to blame it on the gulp of hot brew.

She hums noncommittally.

Stark (Tony) looks up. “I know you know him. I was there when you two met, remember, _Natalie_?”

For weeks, Tony had referred to her as Natalie, biting and a little cruelly, but right now it feels like friendly teasing. Natasha allows a small smile that she hides in her mug.

“I remember. He called me Emmanuelle, I believe.”

“It was true, you know,” Tony’s smiling too. "SHIELD is no IMF, but close enough."

“I still don’t know how he figured it out.”

“Your cover or the lithium dioxide?”

“Both.”

This time Tony tries to hide his smile in his own mug. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Thought he was a psychic.”

Tony’s eyebrow tics up. “You did your homework last night.”

“Yes. _Psych_? A little bold, don’t you think?”

A laugh this time. “Shawn is nothing if not bold.”

Natasha doesn’t hide her smile. The silence is comfortable. The only sounds are breathing and drinking and it’s… nice.

“I think this is the longest, most civil conversation you and I have ever had,” Tony observes, not sarcastically or cruelly, simply there.

“I think it’s the longest we’ve been alone together at all.”

Tony shrugs his acquiescence. “You’re a scary woman, Agent Romanov.”

“You can border on frightening yourself, Mr. Stark.”

And even though Natasha forces her voice to be light and teasing and maybe even sarcastic, the words are true. If Stark were pushed or cornered or threatened, he would be terrifying. Natasha suspects it would be even worse if Shawn were pushed or cornered or threatened. The world would burn behind Tony.

Tony’s smile is all teeth, and Natasha knows he heard the truth.

“Why, Natasha, you flatter me.”

And if Natasha smiles back, her own teeth even and white and predatory, well, then it’s a bonding moment.

__

Clint finds Stark in exactly the same position Natasha left him over an hour previously with only two changes. One, instead of his hand tapping the reactor, it’s tapping a tablet. Two, the mug of coffee is now a mug of juice, pineapple by the smell. Clint didn’t even know they sold pineapple juice, let alone had it in the Tower.

“So are you and Super Spencer, like, a thing?”

“Good morning to you, too, Bird Brain,” Stark ignores his tactless question, unstartled by his sudden, silent arrival.

Clint’s a little disappointed by that. Sometimes he even manages to catch Natasha by surprise when he drops from the ceiling, albeit those incidences end with my bruises then they’re really worth.

Clint makes a face and hops down from the counter. “Seriously, though. That was an honest question.”

“He is the Arwin to my Aragorn.”

It takes Clint a moment, but then – “Did you just make a Lord of the Rings reference? You totally did. Nerd.”

Stark’s smiling down at his tablet. “How do you think I’d look with a beard? I don’t know about full face, but a goatee could definitely work on me.”

Clint wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. No. Stick with the stubble. I’ve seen pictures of you in your twenties and thirties. You looked like a supervillian.”

Stark laughs, surprising himself and Clint with the genuine sound. It’s hard to think of Stark as _Stark_ when he’s laughing in his pajamas with bedhead, Clint finds.

“True. But I think Shawn can totally pull of the elf ears.”

Clint smiles and chokes back a laugh. “I do not want to see that guy in a dress.”

Tony looks up at him, eyes sparkling a little bit. “Afraid you’ll like it?”

This time Clint just chokes on his freshly poured coffee. Stark (Tony) just laughs. Once Clint recovers he just looks at the man who, up until maybe five minutes ago, had only really been a guy in a suit with too many neuroses to count. He seems more real now, human. (Vulnerable). Still crazy, though.

“So why were you hidin’ him from us, anyway?” Clint can’t quite tell if he’s dropping consonants on purpose or by accident. He typically only does it around people he’s comfortable with or marks. Clint can’t quite tell which one Stark (Tony) is.

And when Tony looks him in the eye, Clint knows that Tony knows. His smile is gentle, soft in a way that contradicts everything he knows about the man. It reminds him of last night, of watching Tony and Shawn together.

“Other way around,” Tony finally says, still impossibly soft. “Shawn needed time to… settle.”

And fuck if Clint knows what that means. He says as much. Tony laughs.

“Shawn was kidnapped, infected with a virus that permanently rewired his brain, nearly died (several times), and is constantly surrounded by technology that essentially acts as a magnet to his brain, which is already genius level. He needed time to settle.”

And suddenly Clint has no fucking idea why Tony is talking to him, why he’s telling him this. He’s very, very aware of where he is, of who is in control of the situation. And he’s very, very afraid.

Tony smiles softly again as though he can read Clint’s mind. “Nobody reported us to SHIELD last night.”

And then Clint gets it. Trust is a two-way street, and Tony is repaying him (them). The knot in his chest loosens, and he suddenly realizes that he was gripping his mug tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. “Oh.”

“Shawn made you guys breakfast before he left.”

And suddenly the atmosphere in the room is a whole light lighter, but no less confusing. “Huh?”

Tony nods towards the fridge. “Pineapple pancakes, pineapple smoothies, and I think he even went for pineapple omelets. Also pineapple.”

“Uh… Pineapple… omelets?” Clint’s not entirely sure he’s awake anymore. Maybe this is a dream. A very weird, confusing, tropical dream.

Tony’s answering smile is one of those ones that make people want to take a picture, so genuinely happy and maybe a little bit in love it melts away all the stress and age from their face. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his teeth are pearly white against his lips. Clint’s own lips twitch upwards at the sheer charisma of the expression.

“Shawn has a thing for pineapples.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hinting that Tony and Shawn are together, but I (finally) decided to just put it out there. Tell me they wouldn't be adorable together, and I'll call you a liar.


	5. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn was missing. Shawn is back. Shawn is leaving again. Lassiter can't handle this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens before Shawn goes to New York.

The first time Head Detective Carlton Lassiter sees Shawn Spencer in two weeks is in the last place he had expected. He’d been expecting to find him in the morgue on bad days, Argentina on good ones.

Spencer had gone missing. Frantic did not begin to cover the atmosphere of the Santa Barbara Police Department. In the beginning at least. Overwhelming guilt and fear had followed. Nearly two weeks, and not a trace. No ransom, no _nothing._ All odds pointed to Spencer being dead, and they didn’t have _a single fucking suspect_.

Juliet hadn’t cried.

That surprised Lassiter. She and Spencer had always seemed close, always on the verge of being on the verge of dating. But she hadn’t cried, not a single tear.

Gus came every day.

That didn’t surprise Lassiter. He and Spencer were unimaginably close, friends since childhood and always together. So he came, waiting.

Lassiter drank.

Lassiter drank more than he should, more than was reasonable considering how much he (didn’t) hate the psychic. But _goddammit_.

And then two days ago they got a call from a blocked number that techies said was heavily encrypted.

_“Um.. Hi, guys. It’s me, uh, Shawn. I’m not, you know, dead or anything. Nothing perm- well. I’m not dead. I’m okay. So, uh, you can call off the investigation, I guess? I’m coming home, I think, in a few days.”_

And the _relief_ was palpable. But then there was anger. No explanation. _Nothing_. And Lassiter needed answers. Juliet was conflicted, and Gus suddenly stopped coming to the station. Lassiter wondered if he’d gotten the unabridged story in his own, personal phone call.

But here he stands, two days later, the day after his first full night’s sleep in two weeks, coffee mug in hand, staring down at Shawn Spencer.

And Spencer looks like shit.

His hair is messy in a way reminiscent of insomnia rather than boyishness, and the stubble on his face makes him look older than Lassiter’s ever seen him. There are purplish bags under his eyes, and his lips are chapped. There is no leather jacket or motorcycle helmet beside him on the bench where he sprawled on his back. Rather, Spencer has donned faded grey sweatpants emblazoned with MIT down one leg and a plain white shirt wrinkled from too many days’ wear.

Spencer looks like _shit_.

Lassiter is so surprised by Spencer’s unannounced arrival and unkempt appearance that it takes him five seconds longer than it should have to notice the large man in a suit standing guard over Spencer’s dozing body. The man is looking down at Spencer, eyes soft in contrast to his physical appearance.

Lassiter drifts a little bit closer, when he see the man start to speak.

“—ure this is a good idea?”

Spencer is apparently not as asleep as he looks because he answers. “I disappeared, Happy. A phone call isn’t gonna cut it.”

And Spencer sounds _tired_.

“Miss me, Detective?” Lassiter almost drops his cup at the sound of Spencer’s voice. He hasn’t even opened his eyes.

“Spencer! My office.” Whatever Lassiter had been about to say is cut off by the sound of Chief Karen Vick.

Wordlessly, Spencer swings his legs flat on the ground and stands, shockingly graceful for his apparent exhaustion. The bodyguard – because Lassiter has no other word for the man – follows Spencer like a shadow, glaring at Lassiter with unconcealed contempt. Lassiter follows dumbly, wondering idly why nobody else has noticed Spencer’s presence. Maybe they’re all as dumbstruck as he is.

Vick doesn’t kick him out as he pulls the door shut, so he stands in the doorway as Spencer folds himself calmly into a chair. The bodyguard hovers behind him. Lassiter creeps in and stands the corner, closing the door quietly behind him. The Chief meets his eyes, and he can see relief and concern and confusion reflected back at him. She nods. He stays.

“And who are you?”

“Hogan.” The man’s voice maybe isn’t as deep as Lassiter expected, but there’s a steel in it.

“And why, Mr. Hogan, are you here?” The Chief’s voice has its own kind of steel.

The bodyguard – Hogan – glances down at Spencer slumped in the chair. “For Shawn.”

Chief looks as though she might protest or continue the questioning, but she has bigger questions on her mind. She turns her head to Spencer, and her gaze softens.

“Mr. Spencer,” she begins. “You were missing for nearly two weeks. There was – is – an investigation. Nobody knows where you went or if you were taken.”

“Wasn’t a question.” And Spencer doesn’t even try to joke. That maybe scares Lassiter more than anything.

“Fair enough. Where were you, and were you taken?”

“… ‘s classified.”

Lassiter blinks.

“Excuse me?” The Chief can’t keep the surprise from her voice.

Suddenly there is a file being slid across her desk, pulled from somewhere on Hogan’s person. Bright red letters read CLASSIFIED, TOP SECRET, REDACTED. There appears to only be one page in the folder.

“…Shawn?”

“Chief.” And Spencer isn’t fazed at all. Lassiter has no idea what’s going on.

“Mr. Spencer – Shawn – are you alright?” Vick’s voice is softer than Lassiter can ever remember hearing it.

Lassiter watches Spencer blink and breathe in deeply, fingers twitching against his sweatpants. He forces a smile that seems sharp against his lips, almost as though his teeth are going to cut them.

“I think I need to request a leave of absence, or whatever it is consultants call vacations.”

And that was… unexpected.

“Shawn?..” Vick asks carefully, all too clearly unsure of what kind of ground she’s walking on.

His smile softens, becomes a little more believable, a little sadder. “I’m working on it. I have a friend helping me. I’m going to be staying with him for the next few weeks.”

“Where?”

“New York.” Hogan answers this time. Shawn is leaning towards him just a little bit, almost as though he’s shying away from the Chief.

And then Spencer is standing and the two men are leaving. Spencer stops half a step behind Hogan, leaning close to Lassiter’s ear.

“Missed you, too, Lassie.”

And Lassiter thinks maybe things will be okay.


End file.
